Genom Eld Och Vatten
by PuffinofPie
Summary: 100 years ago society was forced underground. 50 years ago it should have risen back to the Surface. Meet Tino Väinämöinen, an average man who is selected to join a group of mismatched individuals to venture up There, and to discover the truth.
1. Introduction: Under

**A/N: **Hello, everyone! This is Puffin and I'm super excited to start this story! I'm not sure how successful or how well I'll stay up on it, but I'll still try my best! I'm very excited about the idea and the potential (if it has any!)! I have hope to have many pairings in this fic, including/maybe: SuFin, DenIce, FrUk, GerIta, Spamano, PruHun, GreJap, EstPol. I think that's all I've been tossing around or have decided on. I'm not set on all them yet, but I'll get them figured out shortly, so if you have requests just say so! *shot*

Please read and review~! Constructive criticism is much love~!

Disclaimer: I own nothing, but I certainly wish I did just like many others~!

**~x~x~x~STORY~x~x~x~x~**

It was their last look at the bright, brilliant sun that smiled over the green terrain. It was their last look at the grass, the trees, and the wildlife around them. It was the last look at their old home before they would descend into the depths of the earth, only to emerge when the fiery storms and obscured sun would pass. When the sun could gaily gaze upon the earth was when they were going to abandon their protective, underground shelter in favor for the exposed, natural surface.

A woman who appeared to be in her late thirties ushered along a small child into a quickly narrowing corridor. The child would ask why in his naivety, earning a teary "You'll understand when you're older". Trailing the two was a man, towering half a head over his wife. He was silent. It wasn't that he didn't want to say anything or didn't have anything to say; he just didn't know what to tell their all too curious, oblivious son. So he chose silence over the other alternatives.

Somewhere many miles away another family waited. This one consisted of a man, wife, and expected baby. The woman would despair over how the child would be born into a world underground. She would wail to her husband, who would pat her on the back comfortingly and whisper little words of wisdom. "It will be for the best," he would say, receiving a mush of words that only he could understand. At that moment, when they were waiting to enter their new "home", they both stood quiet and stonily, carefully collected. The wife's hand subconsciously rubbed the growing bump on her belly, and the husbands eyes merely rested on the door. Both hoped for the best.

Across the world, select families, couples, and individuals were experiencing the something similar. Standing before a wide door, before a new future, with their back toward the life they knew and loved. They didn't have much of a choice, though; they were what was going to be left of humanity and preserving the live they had already brought down into the tunnels.

_**~x~x~x~x~100 years later~x~x~x~x~**_

_There is an orb suspended above me, it's brilliant rays beating against my reddening skin. They called it a sunburn, or at least that's what they tell me. My flesh stings a little as I poke it, and it feels unfathomably warm. A small smile cross my lips; it's so new and exhilarating! The burnt skin turns white under my finger and as soon as I lift it off, it turns back to the bright pink._

_I glance over to my other two companions: an Estonian and a Pole. The Estonian seemed to be just as fascinating as I, but the Pole seemed to be flustered about it._

"_Like, what is this?" he demands to know, pointing to his arm. "This is totally not cool!"_

"_Feliks," the Estonian says soothingly, grabbing the arm the other was gesturing toward, "it's natural. The Counsel told us they have preserved remedies and a way to prevent this. They also say that one sunburn can help you build a resistance to another."_

_The Pole, Feliks, merely pouts and waits for Eduard to release his arm. As much as he loves his dear friend, the effects of the sunburn are clearly written on his face. Their interactions amuse me; the two are opposites and oblivious. When? When will they -_

_BLEEP!_

_What was that sound?_

_BLEEP! BLEEP!_

_Go away, alarm! I'm still sleeping!_

_BLEEP! BLEEP! BLEEP!_

I groan as I grope my stand for the screeching device. Why do I have to get up at such an ungodly hour? I stretch and recount my dream. It was another about the sun, being up on the Surface. Long before the council had decided that the initial date we would set foot up there should be pushed back. They deemed it still too dangerous. Now, 50 years after the date, they have yet to mention anything more about it.

I stretched and stripped myself of the blankets, still trying to shake off my sleep. Placing my feet on the cold, wooden floors I make my way to the bathroom. On my way I can hear my parents talking in the living room. It's not unusual that I hear them, or that even at the age of 23 years I'm living with them. They are usually up before I am and there's not enough space for everyone to have their own living space. Typically the children move out when they marry, and then move into the newlywed quarters until a space opens up. So I continue on my way to shower without second thought of their hushed chatter.

I push the bathroom door open and step into the room. I close the door and quickly start stripping down to shower. Somehow they found a way to reuse the water; I've had it explained to me many times, but I still don't get it. Eduard seems fascinated with the system, though. Every time I express my confusion or ignorance in how it works, he would start explaining it fruitlessly to me. Most of the time it ends right where it started. He's one of the maintenance keepers.

The rest of the morning goes without anything unusual as I prepare for work. I am employed in the kitchens, so I help make the meals for everyone. It isn't one of the best jobs one can have here, but I enjoy it and people seem to like the food. So I guess it's good on both ends. We get our ingredients from caverns hastily carved out for agriculture. The poor men and women there work all day and all night to make sure everyone has enough food, and with the rapidly rising population it gets harder and harder to do.

Which surprises me that they haven't mentioned anything about the vast, spacious Surface. Surely up there we would have more than enough space to support our small, yet cramped, community. I sigh at my bowl of oatmeal, still thinking of up There, when my parents enter the little "kitchen".

"Honey," my mom starts by saying. Something is clearly bothering her, so my attention rests solely on her. I don't even notice my father opening his mouth to continue.

"Tino," he picks up where she left off, "the Counsel has decided in secrecy to select individuals to venture to the Surface."

My interest is peaked right away; my heart is in my throat; there are butterflies in my stomach. "Ky-Kylla?" I stammer in anticipation in our native tongue.

"The Counsel talked to us today," he explains, clearly picking his words very meticulously, enunciating them as carefully as possible. "They would like you to be one of them. You would represent the Finnish sector."

I am at a loss for words. Emotions and thoughts rush into my body. First there is excitement; my secret, deepest dream is coming true! Second is fear; what if the Surface is still as dangerous as it was that day 100 years ago? Third is internal chastising; silly me, I shouldn't be worry about how safe it is! They wouldn't be sending us up there if it weren't safe!

Through the waves, I just nod. My mom, however, bursts into tears and throws her arms around me. "Tino, dear!" she sobs. "Make sure you're safe up there! If things turn out to be too hazardous up there or you don't feel comfortable, come straight back! Okay?"

"Marja," my father says, void of emotion, "it's an honor to be chosen. They wouldn't send anyone up there they don't deem competent."

My mother just sniffles, pushing me back an arm's length away to study me. She nods with satisfaction and says, "Then they've picked a fine, young boy."

Throughout the chaste conversation, I'm silent. I am unsure of what to say, what I _should_ say. My thoughts seemed like a better alternative anyway.

_**~x~x~x~x~**_

I walk down the hall to the meeting. The Counsel had summoned those of us they had chosen, and they want to give us the details of our mission. Mission? Could it be called that? It was assigned to us by the higher-ups, but we aren't some sort of agent... or at least I'm not. Maybe the others are? Either way, it makes it sound really cool and important. At some point, I must have scrunched up my nose and lost track of time in thought. I find myself mysteriously standing in front of the big, famous, conference room waiting with a large man staring at me. When did this happen? Oh yeah... I was too busy wandering around my mind to notice anything.

"You okay?" he grunts, penetrating gaze not changing in the slightest. He seems to be waiting for something. Maybe the same thing as I? He was going to go to the Surface, too?

"H-Huh?" I stutter. Wow, his eyes are so blue, but so sharp and intense.

"You okay?" he repeats, face still not changing.

"Yeah," I reply softly. His glasses seem to make his face more intimidating. Not to mention his height.

"Your name?" he asks bluntly, but is that a little... shyness in his voice? It can't be! Not that giant who seems to be glowering at me with those _eyes_!

"Tino... Tino Väinämöinen," I say quickly, shifting my weight to the other foot. "Yours?"

"Ber-"

"SVEEE~! YOU, TOO!" a voice belts from a crowd nearby, one that I can only assume to be around this area for the same reason. Both Bersve (is that his name?) and I instantly look in that direction and, for some reason, a wave of trepidation hit me.

**~x~x~x~x~**

**A/N: **Hey! Puffin again! I'm not sure how confusing things are right now, but they'll make much more sense in the next chapter! (orz) And if you have any questions, just ask~! By the way, the title means "Through Fire and Water".


	2. Chapter 1: Three Words

**A/N:** I'm so sorry, guys! I intended to get the next chapter up a lot sooner! Anyway, this chapter is horribly written and proofread by your truly (sorry... orz). I've also been throwing around the idea of going back and changing the tense to past; I discovered present wasn't as great, flowy, and easy to write as I hoped it was going to be. What do you think, though? Keep or change it? On the bright side, the chapters are getting longer, and I intend to make them much longer than this. I also discovered how much I love Poland (he's so much fun~!) and how lame of a sense of humor I have~!

To answer some questions, I have seen that video, and I'm hopelessly addicted to the song. V-V As for Alfred, I have the perfect entrance for him now. Thank you to other reviewers! C:

Also, if there's anyone who would like to proofread this and get on me about uploading, I would appreciate it. I'm in search of a beta...

Anything else? I don't think so.

Please read and review~! Constructive criticism is LOVE~! Thank you!

**~x~x~x~STORY~x~x~x~**

Nothing ever turns out as you expect it. At first, you are absolutely confident that A will happen, but really B happens. Because B happens, A is positively impossible no matter how much you hope for it to be true. It's like starting a vat (because a pot is too small) of pea soup. You work so hard adding different ingredients and nurturing its deliciousness along delicately. Suddenly, though, someone bumps a large jar of spices and most happen to fall into your poor hernekeitto. What do you do? Some people say to start over no matter how long it takes and regardless the time; others continue cooking it and hope it turns out all right; others try to fix it by adding other ingredients or making it into something else. With the latter two, it can go either very wrong or very well. Sometimes you can tell which way it'll go. And sometimes you're not really sure of what to expect; that's what I prefer. That way, you're not disappointed with the outcome. Maybe a little confused, but certainly not disappointed.

"Is everyone seated?" a voice sounds across the room, but not stopping the chatter. The source of the voice, a British man at the head of the room, stands tapping his foot impatiently. His face reads that he does not have the patience to deal with us any longer. My assumption is correct.

"Silence you bloody twits!" he screeches across the room and he gets what he demanded. He was greeted with complete, deafening silence, rapt attention, and a couple looks of shock and fear. "My name is Mr. Kirkland. I understand that most of you know the basics of what your mission is?"

Aha! So I was right! It is a mission! Inwardly, I happily gloat to myself. Most of the others nod their heads, their boredom already palpable.

"You're going to be going to the Surface and report what you find to us," he says, voice considerably quieter and more collected than a couple seconds prior. "You'll each be receiving files written by the original Counsel and us as to what you will be looking for, observing, and everything else you need to know."

He motions to a man on his right. The man is laden with folders, each folder packed with papers I can only assume to be our orders. The poor man hobbles over to the Mr. Kirkland, dropping the mound onto the table in front of him.

"Thank you, Yao," Mr. Kirkland says and briskly dismisses him with a wave of his hand. Yao has nothing left to do other than walk back to his original spot much lighter than he had been.

"You will find everything you need to know in this." He takes and waves the top folder in the air. "Keep what you read in them to yourselves; no one else may know the contents and each file is different. I can't tell you why, but the Counsel has its intentions. Understand?"

A chorus of bored, but anxious, agreement.

"All right, then! When I call your name, come up and receive your instructions, and then please be seated"

"Our first group will consist of Ludwig Beilschmidt."

"Tino!" a voice harshly whispers to me, snapping my attention from Mr. Kirkland and nearing presence.

I decide ignore it, eagerly listening for my name.

"Ivan Braginski."

"Tino!" it repeats, becoming louder and a little more urgent.

Again, I ignore it.

"Björn Erikson."

"Tino!"

I turn to look at the man, who looks back at me with one of the brightest, but oblivious, expressions I have ever seen. "What?" I hiss back, still keeping my ears open for my name. His personality must be as persistent as his hair, which pokes up defiantly in ever direction.

"Berwald Oxenstierna!"

So it isn't Bersve; it's Berwald!

"Aha! So that is your name! Sve was right," he muses the last part to himself, but quickly returns his attention back to me. He, however, doesn't have the time to say his next few words.

"Mathias Sorensen!"

Instead of saying what he originally intended to, he gives a quick, "Be back in a jiff!" before bounding off toward the Englishman in the front. I watch him momentarily before turning my attention to the others who had been called.

The man named Ludwig is still completely alert, leaning forward almost as if in anticipation in his chair. He is the stereotypical German with his blond hair slicked back, icy blue eyes, posture flawless, and an uptight air. His frozen orbs are on Mathias, then flitting over to the other three, then to me.

First is Björn, whose pale complexion matches his just-as-pale hair. Before the meeting I was told he represents the Icelandic population, which surprised me. Pure Icelanders are rare now; the population was so small to begin with, now it's nearly nonexistent. Yet here he is, a full-blooded Icelandic, or so the rumor goes.

Second is Berwald, the Swedish man from earlier. Eyebrows furrowed, he is already flipping through the file he was given moments prior. A second he looks at a page, then flips it over and begins the next. Another second passes, and he moves onto the next one.

I bite my lower lip and follow the German's (?) gaze to the third man – Ivan was it? A chill crawls down my spine as I examine him. There's something off that I can't quite explain, something that sets me on edge. Yet there's also something oddly fascinating about him.

Before I can finish studying Ivan, I hear my name being called impatiently. Had I zoned out?

"Kyllä?" I reply instinctively, then flushing as I rise to my feet. I mentally kick myself for being so foolish. How could I have not been paying attention as I should?

"Here's your assignment," Mr. Kirkland explains when I reach him, tapping it against his opposite hand. A small smile curls up the edges of his lips as he scrutinizes my face. "You've been assigned the most important task of all. You'll may not understand it right away, but you will in due time."

I give him a questioning look and begin to form words, but he interrupts me as if he hadn't noticed. "Do it well." With that, he thrusts the large, but strangely thin, envelope in my hand then nudges me off back to my seat. Reluctantly, I oblige.

"All right, then!" Mr. Kirkland belches across the room, recapturing the attention of my new troupe members. "We would like all of you to function as a team, and naturally you would like to share what your file contains, so I'll have to request from you to not reveal what is in there. We want you to work as a unit."

He makes eye contact with every one of us to add emphasis to the reminder.

"Understand?"

Curiosity growing in the pit of my stomach, I carefully open the seal of the envelope to reveal only one sheet of paper. The little creature, curiosity, starts to gnaw at my belly as I draw the paper out of the envelope.

It reads three words:

_Be the tree._

Be the tree?

_**~x~x~x~x~**_

With the folder firmly under my rear (I was sitting on it), I scoop up a spoonful of soup and nearly inhale it. Pea soup, it's Thursday after all. I contentedly let some of the soup linger in my mouth, enjoying the savory flavor. Please let there be peas up on the surface. Please let us be able to make this wonderful, wonderful food.

The rest of the meeting had gone without hitch. Mr. Kirkland explained some more finer details, handing us more papers that poor Yao had to bear. The two things, amidst the abundancy of information we received, that stand out to me are the contents of my folder and the bubbling in my throat. Oh yeah, we are leaving for There in one week. One whole week, it's so far, yet so close.

From what I've seen of my new troupe so far, neither Mathias nor Berwald have taken a liking to each other. Mathias will talk ceaselessly to Berwald's annoyance. Björn will come to Berwald's rescue by striking up conversation with the talkative Mathias. The two seem to like each other so far. Ivan will watch merrily, enjoying the little bits of chaos, and Ludwig will purse his lips as if he wants to say something, but will remain silent. Already it's like a dysfunctional family, falling into routine and roles, a dysfunctional family that I will soon come to love.

"I heard in my district that they sent one group up before us," Björn replies to a comment through a mouthful of his dinner. "They were never heard from again."

"That's far from true," Ludwig interjects after he swallowed a bite of his own. "No one has been up There since we came down. There's no documentation."

"But why haven't they?" I ask. "According to the Counsel, we should have been able to go back 50 years ago."

"Obviously the Counsel was wrong," Ludwig states with a shrug, then takes another bite of his meal. "Just a simple miscalculation on their part is all."

"But could it really just have been a miscalculation?" Ivan inquires. Now I've finally had a good look at him. He said he was Russian, and his eyes are violet and his hair is light, much like my own. However, he is much larger than I am. "What if it was a conspiracy?"

"It couldn't have been a conspiracy. A conspiracy like that would have taken too much work and more planning than they could have done," Ludwig replies with the same confident passiveness as before. "They had too much to deal with at that time as it was."

"Are you sure?" the Russian insists, and I turn my attention back to the other three. Björn appears to be searching for words, knowing what he wants to say, but not knowing how to vocalize it. Mathias and Ludwig watch the young Icelander, waiting for him to finally spew his retort.

But there's a quiet we're forgetting. Now that I think of it, I haven't really spoken to Berwald since before the meeting. No one has.

Maybe I should fix that.

"Berwald!" I greet him, my bowl of soup sadly empty. Yet I still have my hands wrapped contentedly around it.

Before he had his his focus on the plate in front of him, a mix of something unidentifiable piling up in the middle. I can't help but wonder what that was and what it tastes like. Almost reluctantly, he looks at me with a gaze that could see right through me and my grip falters, letting the bowl slip the millimeter onto the table and creating a slight _thump._

Oh well, it's too late to turn back now.

"How are you?"

Berwald nods and gives me a grunt, taking in a bite of his dinner. His x-ray eyes return to the bowl, and I realize that I had been holding my breath. With an exhale, I realize there's nothing to do but interpret it as a positive reply.

"That's good! I'm well! So you're here for the Swedish sector, aren't you?" I try again. Maybe I can get a sentence out of him! I could make a game out of this!

Again, he grunts and nods, not giving me much to work off of and entirely focused on the food in front of him. In a way, I was sort of thankful. I kind of don't want to face those eyes again, those penetrating eyes again. Pursing my lips, I think of the next question to ask. What could I ask that could possibly get this stone-silent man to say something?

Ah ha! An idea!

"Is that good? What is it?" I attempt once again with genuine curiosity, hoping desperately I can get a single word out of him. I can't lose this game to myself! Wait...

The silent man swallows the mystery meal and opens his mouth ever so slightly to, I can only assume and hope and dream and wish, say something. All of those feelings, however, are crushed as a certain Polish friend of mine plops himself weightily down on my free side, pulling another, an Estonian, down with him.

"I totally wasn't expecting you here, Tino. What a coincidence! Who are your new friends?"

For some reason, I also feel a wave of gratitude wash over me; Feliks has always been really good at getting people to talk. Maybe I can get him to help!

"Well..."

I never did get him to talk. He seemed to focused on his food. Cursed Swedish food. I'll have to ask Mathias for help; he seems to know how to get Berwald, the near mute... Or maybe I won't ask him. I'll try this on my own. I'll definitely get the large, SLIGHTLY intimidating Swede to talk one day. Although he did get an odd look on his face a few times. I wonder why that is...


End file.
